dearest mother
by TenTenD
Summary: "You monsters! He is just a child!" Her child shrieked as though in response to her yell. "My father will never fall for your ruse." "Babes die." Terror took over the she-wolf's mien. AU!
1. Chapter 1

"Give him back." Clad in flimsy garb, the sole daughter of House Stark faced her father's bannerman, waves of loathing rolling off her of, though heavily restrained. "Do you wish to be kicked without the walls that have long protected you?" The tiny creature mewled in the man's arms, fists flailing.

"This is our only chance." The maester stared at her with nearly palpable pity.

"You monsters! He is just a child!" Her child shrieked as though in response to her yell. "My father will never fall for your ruse."

"Babes die." Terror took over the she-wolf's mien.

"Do daughters die as well?"

"If need be."

* * *

Lyanna could feel her throat closing around the scream she did not quite manage to choke out. Master Walys, of all men to betray her, it had to be one who'd watched her grow. They had ridden off with her son and left her with two of the men.

One was digging. The other watched. She trashed her head around, willing him to take off the cloth blocking her voice. She did not quite know what to make of the look of him. He sighed and stood, drawing near to her.

She held her breath and closed her eyes.

Snow crunched.

A yell rang through the clearing.

* * *

Wide-eyed she looked at the corpses. These two men, she'd known them. They'd served in her father's keep. She would never have believed them capable of such cruelty as they had dealt upon her.

They lied dead at her feet.

The imposing figure clad in tattered blacks knelt by her side. She felt the sharp kiss of steel against her scraped knuckles and then the ropes loosened. The gag followed, leaving her mouth free at long last.

Without a second thought she grabbed onto the stranger's arm. "They took my son. I have to get him back."

* * *

"Where is he?" Lyanna would have gladly cut the man's throat were she not in need of his knowledge at the moment. Though the others had run off, Master Walys chief among them, the man staring up into her eyes was obliged to remain behind due to a faulty leg.

"It is too late, lady. The creatures took him. Winterfell is now safe. Take my life if you would." His gaze dropped from hers and remained pinned to the ground.

In the face of such callousness, she could do little but release her rage.

Blood splattered across the pristine whiteness. Heat scalded her hands.

* * *

"Don't tell me that," she insisted, looking at the man and the strange beast he rode. "There must be something. There must be."

"If it is as the man told it, your son is gone. I shall take you back to Winterfell."

"My son is not gone." Not her babe. Not her poor, sweet child. "If you shan't help me find him, I will do it on my own."

"You would never survive the night on your own."

"I will, for my son. Those creatures can be bested with fire. I have a torch."

"The foul servants are of no interest to you."

* * *

"Dead? What mean you? What nonsense are you speaking, man?" Ned felt as though the heavens bore down upon him.

"It is true, Your Grace." His lady wife held their son, a frown marring her face. "The maester told me as soon as dawn broke. I am so very sorry."

Realisation punched him. Ned started. "What have you done with her and Jon?"

"The ashes were laid near Brandon's grave. I gave orders to have a place prepared for her as well."

Aught was not right. His father was dead. Brandon had gone before him. Lyanna and her son?

"She told me she would never rest until she gained father's forgiveness."

* * *

The Crown Prince poured more wine into the cups. Ned did not know what to say to the man. "If we can secure Castle Black we could spread out the men along what remains of the Wall. Likely as not, with sufficient numbers we can drive them back. Buy us time at least."

"Why did she name him Jon?" Though the man had not much bothered with words since they'd entered the solar, such questions petered out every now and again.

"Daemon would have raised too many eyebrows."

Ned looked down into his own cup. The red liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim as he lifted it.

* * *

"Nay; look at this spot. That is a bloodstain." Ned shook his head, leaning in slightly. "The cup full of wine rolls under the bed and there is blood here. It does not look suspicious to you? One of you men is missing. He has been gone for some time, it appears. Approximately since your sister's death."

"No one would harm my sister within these walls." Drawing back, Ned met the Prince's gaze. "I want this to be a lie just as much as you do, Your Grace. But she is gone."

It made no sense. Who would dare touch a hair on his sister's head? Who would take such a risk?

* * *

Catelyn seemed to be completely in her element in the nursery. "I cannot imagine her grief," she said, placing her hand upon his. "And I cannot explain it to myself at all. They were just fine the last I saw them. And they burned the bodies before I'd even birthed Robb."

"What?" His head shot up. "You never saw the bodies?" His mind refused to accept her nod. It was much too horrifying to contemplate. And yet there was his young wife, telling him his sister had not been ill. Her babe had given no signs of sickening.

"It was not your fault, my lord."

* * *

Benjen looked between him and the Crown Prince. "Hounds. Hounds might be able to track her." Ned felt himself nod even knowing he could not send out search parties. That would alert too many. "With this snows, though, it would be difficult even with our best."

"Aye; there is little reason to send out hounds. We need to find out who knows aught of this. Have the story corroborated from as many sources as we can."

"His Grace has the right of it."

"I will speak to the guards," the youngest brother offered. "I know one or two who might aid."

* * *

 _Just an AU idea. Should I pursue?_


	2. Chapter 2

"You're hurting him!" The angry cry split more than just the stunned silence. He found himself wincing as the heat scalded his unprotected cheek. Despite his struggle, he did not manage much beyond turning further into the woman's touch. The distinctive scent of inferior slowly decaying flesh assaulted him as more and more of the creatures gathered around him. The circle closed in.

"He wouldn't have been hurt if he hadn't tried to flee." The sharp kiss of a dark steel played against his throat. He looked up into the man's face, a grin threatening to split his grim expression as blood oozed from the wound he'd inflicted.

"Arthur Dayne, don't touch a hair on my son's head. You hear?"

* * *

She was lying. He'd been watching her. The woman with silver threading through her hair. He watched her still as she knelt at the far end of the crude tent. She had to be lying. Her heavy cloak sagged down below her shoulders.

"Jon, I truly am sorry." He stared ahead warily. Who was Jon? The son she confused him with? But without she'd called him by another name. His lips silently mimicked the word. _Jon._ The other he could not even begin to pronounce for fear of breaking his poor tongue to pieces. "You did Ser Arthur a bad turn. He is a good man."

Insignificant worms, the lot of them. He would sooner or later free himself.

* * *

Tipping his head back he narrowly avoided the spoon coming his way. "You have to eat something." The woman's insistence was growing bothersome. For answer, he bared his teeth in a snarl. She flinched but did not back away. The bowl was placed upon the ground, the thin dirty liquid within moving to and fro before it stilled. "I am not giving up on you; cease acting like a bear with a sore head."

His first instinct was to lunge for her, but the shackles holding him back permitted little other than an ineffectual jerk. "I shall wait for however long it takes, but you must remember, Jon."

As soon as he escaped, he would tear her throat out.

* * *

The food was bland, but not poisonous. And when cold, he might go as far as to term it pleasant. The woman had loosened his restraints somewhat. He could sit up and take a few steps within the tent. Grateful though he was for the small mercy, boredom eroded even that small grain of gratitude.

As though summoned by his thoughts, she came in. She held in her hand a leather-bound volume. Humans especially enjoyed such objects. "I thought I might teach you." One should never interrupt one's enemy when said foe embarked upon an erroneous path.

He slowly lowered himself back into his customary seat and waited.

* * *

"Winter," he articulated carefully, the foreign sounds very nearly painful to his ears. "Winter," he repeated.

"Aye; winter," Lyanna nodded approvingly. She motioned towards the world without the tent. "Out there, it's been winter for a very long time."

He'd never known anything other than winter. She'd told him of summer though. He shuddered at the thought. But she paid him little mind as her eyes focused on aught she caught without. "Pray excuse me but a moment, Jon."

The blare of a horn was more than enough to see her up and about.

For himself, a horrifying realisation came. He'd not tensed when she called him by her son's name.

* * *

The man kept a steady hold on Lyanna's arms. For a brief moment he'd thought Ser Arthur had marched her into the tent, but despite resemblance between the two the man before him was a stranger. "I do not want you alone in here."

"Rhaegar; he is my son." Another one of those blasted names. "I am perfectly safe." The man pinned him with a distrustful stare. Jon returned it with a cutting one of his own. "If you would only spend some time with him, you'd know."

He'd know what? At least that one had the sense to know his enemies.

* * *

The tip of the sword was firmly embedded into the ground. He stared at the dark steel, fear creeping into his heart. Unlike Ser Arthur who had mellowed somewhat, this man did not present any sign of softening. If anything, the more they saw of one another, the more the rivalry between them seemed to grow.

"If you so much as hint at an escape, you will find yourself very much dead. Do not think to test me." He gave a slow nod; he was no fool despite present circumstances. "Get up. Slowly." He followed the instructions and heard the chain dragging in his wake. "Walk."

* * *

He scoffed. His eyes were drawn to the stick. While he understood very well what was being asked of him, he would much rather swallow hot coals. A shake of the head resulted in a tug on his chain. "We've all day," the man spoke. Lyanna had named him his father.

He'd never had a father. Brothers unnumbered; but not quite the same. It seemed for these creatures such connections carried some importance. "Nay. No fight." He held his hands in front of him, palms facing forth.

The man short forth, sword drawn out. Instinctively, he took hold of the measly branch before rolling out of the way.

"Fight."

"Aye."

* * *

Snow crunched beneath heavy footfalls. Lighter ones followed. "What if you are wrong? What if he is not our son?" His own heart squeezed in an odd sort of pain at the knifing doubt. What if he was not?

What manner of madness plagued him that such a thought brought pain?

"You never even saw him." Those words sliced as well. 'Twas not directed at him. He felt some manner of compassion for the man on the receiving end of such an accusation. "I held him. I know my son."

"I cannot change the past!"

"I am not asking you to. I just want my son."

* * *

His fingers gathered in a fist. He was well aware he stared at the poor thing as though he'd never seen his own hands before. Faint scratches marred the white flesh around his wrist. "Why?"

"Return whence you came." Steam swirled in the cold air between them. "If you bear her even a crumb of affection, you will disappear. And you shan't let me find you in battle."

"My mother," he asserted, frustrated that the words would not come. He could not say what he wished.

A bitter sound came from the other. "Leave, unless you wish this to be your grave."

But what if she truly was his mother?

What if he truly was one of them?


	3. Chapter 3

"Aye. I don't understand," Aegon agreed, taking a step backwards. "I do not understand a thing. I might have a brother? A living one?" Somehow he'd imagined a tad more understanding from this one. "And he happens to be one of those monstrosities. I don't understand."

"You have made yourself clear enough." Since they were already travelling down the path, he might as well see it trough.

"Have you seen what those things do?" The trouble was that he had. "Even if one of them were my brother, it does not matter."

"It does matter. Would that it mattered a little less." Alas, matters ever so rarely worked out as he would have them.

* * *

The quiet of the night inspired a shiver of dread. Or rather it might have were he not otherwise preoccupied. "Whatever you may think of me, I did the right thing." Rhaegar persisted in his defence, very much aware of the incredulous look Lyanna sported. "Case in point, his choice was to leave."

"Has it occurred to you that one needs time to build trust?" The cutting manner of the abrupt address made him flinch. She'd not even raised her voice.

"Might be trust is much too precious to be squandered."

In response, she gave him a withering look. "Might be it is." Without another word she turned upon her heel and withdrew.

* * *

"I've never known you to waver." Arthur unspoken question lingered, heavy, between them. Though no further words came from the man, Rhaegar well understood the nudge.

"If it were your son, what would you be willing to do?" A useless question; yet something had to be said.

Gratifyingly enough, even the brave knight hesitated before that particular hurdle. "If it were my son, I would hold out hope." Then he was silent for the length of a heartbeat. "I do not believe there is any good answer to your question. Lady Lyanna, she will accept the loss in time."

"Aye." The easy agreement gave way to worry. "But will I?"

Baring his own suspicions, if the boy were Jon hadn't he a duty?

* * *

The spray of sparks dancing before his eyes momentarily distracted him from the impending and chilling prospect of death. A blow from a heavy ice mace knocked him back. Though they looked brittle, the weapons of their enemy were anything but. That was the particular thought which crossed his mind while he wheezed for breath, sinking into the snow. A flash of panic crawling up his spine opened his eyes wide.

One spindly leg came hurtling towards his face. Instinct rather than thought saw him roll out of the way.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, a burst of energy coursing through him.

* * *

He'd once dreamt of riding dragons. Mounting an ice spider had never truly entered his thoughts, yet there he was, trying to retain his seat in the saddle. If he could steer the creature away from camp. Alas, it seemed to have a mind of its own. And it revelled in chaos. Even a greatsword would have trouble piercing through the protective layer of ice.

The hulking beast produced a deafening sound as it faltered. The many legs upon which its weight rested gave way one after the other, sending him out of the relative safety of the saddle. The ground came up to meet him. An inexorable force turned him over.

Pain knifed along the back of his skull as two chips of burning ice peered down at him.

* * *

Rhaegar had known many kinds of pain throughout his life. Had anyone asked him, he would have sworn physical pain could not compare with the ache engendered by loss. Nevertheless, he'd not known the manner of pain he felt at that precise moment.

He recalled the gore splattered snow and the fires going out.

"Up," the foreign crackle sliced at him. "Up."

His eyes opened slowly, the world coming into focus. A face he recognised hovered above.

Shock had him sitting upright within moments. The boy drew back with equal haste, only one hand remaining upon his shoulder. The pain intensified and for one brief moment, he feared he might expire then and there with a thousand questions crowding together for the chance to be let out.

* * *

The sheer effort exercised for walking had him trembling all over. He would have died. He was still not certain he hadn't. Eyeing the boy with more than a modicum of distrust, Rhaegar made yet another attempt to understand what exactly had taken place.

"You were searching for Lyanna?" He hoped she'd been taken far away, to safety. The boy gave a slow nod.

"Question," the Other managed after a moment of struggle. Then his voice took on an otherworldly aspect, tinkling and crackling by turns. His lips moved. Rhaegar understood not a word. But he could tell he was receiving an explanation.

Lifting something out of an inner pocket, he pushed it forth with a strange little motion. If he'd wanted him dead, he might have taken an opportunity to kill him. Rhaegar decided it could not hurt to reach out. Just once.

On a scrap of cloth the poorly embroidered head of a wolf rested, ignorant to the turmoil it caused. The boy was speaking again, the sounds even more jarring than before.

It could not be.

* * *

Rhaegar felt his way along the sore ribs. Despite having allowed him many a moment of rest in between their journeying, it was becoming more and more apparent that he simply could not keep up.

Jon handed him a wineskin. "Nay. No need." He'd started referring to him as Jon, at least in his own mind. To utter the name though would give credence to the boy's claim. He was not quite prepared for that to happen. "But give me a moment and I shall be fine."

Where in the seven bloody hells had everyone disappeared? He took a deep breath, steeling himself for an answer he instinctively knew would not be to his liking.

* * *

"Hold!" Rhaegar shook his head Aegon's way. "He is not to be harmed." His son gave him a look that spoke volumes, while Lyanna was busy shaking off her brother's hold. "Aegon, lower your weapon. Now."

"Your Majesty, have you forgotten he is the enemy?"

"Have you forgotten yourself?" Aegon flinched. He did not put away his sword.

Lyanna, having finally managed to break free from her brother, ran to their side. Something in her face put him more at ease in spite of the tension swelling amid the ranks. Her lips moved in silent thanks. She reached out for Jon who took hold of her hand without hesitation.

* * *

"You are quite certain he is my sister's son?" Eddard Stark looked about as tired and troubled as he himself felt. "He could have come by that bit of cloth in any number of ways. His Grace is correct to worry. This could well be an attempt to weaken us further."

"And yet neither of us may safely say he is not Jon either. I understand Aegon's worries; but I am determined to keep him close." At the very least they could learn a thing or two about their foe.

"Naught will change your mind?" A frown morphed the man's expression.

"Precisely."


End file.
